Art Class


Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, .

Desc: Sex Story: (#22) an almost all true story about my college daze.

Copyright © 1997

If you're under 18, you shouldn't be reading this. If you're under 18, you're probably just a dumb little fuck anyway, most of you are at that age. Or at any age, really.

I was trying to imagine what his dick looked like. Was it one of those that was long and thin? Or perhaps short and fat? Or perhaps long and fat? Was it circumcised or not? I wondered if it was wrinkled, the way it was sitting inside his bathing suit.

Art, the model, had been posing in front of our art class for nearly an hour, and I had finished drawing his face and chest. I was working my way down, and for some strange reason I always had the most problem with legs. Both mens' and womens'. I don't know why, they always came out looking surreal, thin and spindly or fat and hairy. I was actually a decent artist, much to my surprise. I had only signed up for the course because I needed three more credits to graduate and 'Drawing and Art Appreciation' was a sure fire "pass." I needed a couple of those, because I had started to get "Senior-itis," which is to say I was fucking off a lot.

Of course I preferred the classes where we had a female model, but that only happened half the time. So here I was sitting imagining what this guy's dick looked like.

We weren't allowed to have fully nude models. I'd heard that they did a few years back, but one of the students' parents heard about it and freaked, called the Dean and threatened all kinds of things. So now all our models wore bathing suits or similar modest attire. Still, it was better than the vases and flowers we'd painted for the first six weeks.

By far a girl named Roberta was the most fun in the class. We used to have a beer together after class once in a while when her boyfriend was away. He was on the basketball team, so he traveled a lot on weekends, which left her to me and anybody else with a couple of bucks for entertainment.

On a dare, one time, she went over to the male model and bent over in a low cut top, as if to check out the lighting or the shadows or something. She must have stooped over in front of him for several minutes, trying to get him to get an erection. She didn't. He didn't. She didn't have the greatest set of tits in the world.

Actually, Roberta was about a size too small on the top and a size too big on the bottom. She used to pout about it constantly, but she had the most innocent and pretty face which more than made up for her lack of other attributes.

We used to sit around at the Gryphon after class eating $4 pizzas and talking about guys' dicks and women's tits and stuff. Of course the never-ending supply of beer helped, and Roberta's lack of embarrassment always helped us lead the conversation in that direction.

"What I don't understand," she said, "is how we're supposed to be able to draw a full nude if all they let us have is models in bathing suits." I nodded in agreement. "I don't know about you, but my imagination isn't that good. I mean, I can imagine, of course, but I'd much rather have it right out there on display. That's the only way I'll know if my drawing is truly realistic or not." I nodded some more. "Don't you agree?" she said, ignoring my bobbing head.

"Absolutely. Put those tits right out there for me to see. That's the way to do it." I stated the case firmly.

"You are so crude," she admonished. "You're just in this class for the 'pass'; I'm in it for Art."

"Yeah, well Art barely noticed you, if you noticed," I chided. "You need a lower cut top if you're going to win the bet next time." I motioned to a waitress. "The lady here is buying me another beer. She lost the bet tonight."

"Oh?" said the waitress. "What bet?"

"Nothing," Roberta hissed. "Nothing at all. He's just being an asshole."

I slid out of the booth and stuck my butt up in the air. I pointed at my ass. "She's right, of course," I said to the waitress. OK, I'd had a few beers. The waitress frowned and left.

"Boy you're really out there tonight," Roberta said to me.

"Sorry. I always gloat when I win," I beamed.

"Thanks. It sure makes me feel good, knowing I can't even give a guy a hard-on by letting him look down my blouse. Don't have the right equipment. Damn." She said it with conviction.

"Don't be silly. He was probably gay. And you have very nice equipment. Not that I'm speaking from personal knowledge, of course. But from what I can imagine..." I left the thought unfinished.

"You're terrible!" she spat at me. "Don't you go fantasizing. You'll probably make me look worse than I already do."

"Nonsense," I said. "You're a lovely girl. I'd like nothing better than to have you as a model for the class. I'd love to draw you."

She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "You mean it?" she said.

"Of course I mean it," I replied. Of course I hadn't meant it, it was just the beer talking. But now that I'd said it, I wouldn't have minded.

"Well, I could never do that. Walk into that class in just a bathing suit for everybody to see? Phew! Never never never." She was adamant.

"Oh no, that's not what I meant," I said. "I meant totally nude. Butt ass naked. Birthday suit. Nada. Nothing." I paused. "Now that's something to think about." She shrieked and slugged me in the shoulder. She was strong, and my arm stung for a minute. But she was laughing when she did it, so that made it OK, I guess.

We talked for another 20 or 30 minutes, covering everything from politics to sex to movies to sex to music to sex. Somehow the conversation just kept returning to sex. I can't imagine how. Finally I said "I've got a new bet. Ready?" She nodded. "I'll bet that you won't model for me..."

She interrupted quickly, saying "You're right. You win. I won't."

I continued, "... even if I agree to model for you."

Silence filled the booth like the fog in the Tennessee valleys. "Hmmm," she said. "You might lose that bet. How much is the bet?"

"A whole night here at the Gryphon, all the drinks on me. A pizza, too." I said. It was worth it.

"You're on," she said.

"Fully nude," I said.

"What!!?!" she said. "You didn't say that. That wasn't part of the bet."

"Sure it was. You just interrupted me before I finished. And you said, to quote you, 'you're on.'" I had her. Either way, I won.

"That wasn't part of the bet," she insisted. "I wouldn't have made the bet if that were part of the bet."

"And I thought you had balls," I said.

"That's part of your problem," she said. "You don't know your ass from your elbow. Or my boobs from my balls."

"So you do have balls?" I asked. "Figurative... or literal?"

"Ha ha ha," she said. "It's bathing suits or nothing. Wait. I don't mean nothing, I mean, hell, you know what I mean."

I thought for a moment. "Bathing suits, no deal. Hell, I can see that in class, you know? How about a compromise?" She was intrigued.

"Like what?" she asked. I shrugged my shoulders. "Tell you what," she went on. " I will compromise. We'll pose in underwear. Not nude, not bathing suits. How's that?"

"Maybe. What kind of underwear? No long johns or something like that. Regular, normal underwear. Bra and panties for you. Jockey shorts for me. No funny business, OK?" I asked.

"I could do that. You're on," she said. "Now. Logistics. Where and when?"

"Simple. Tomorrow, Tallow Hall, 7:00. The building closes at 5:00 on Saturday, but if we're already in the classroom they'll let us stay. I've done it before. No sweat. That way we'll have all our equipment, and we'll be ready to draw."

"Done," she said.

Flash forward to the next night, Tallow Hall. As I said I would, I got in the building while it was still open, and a little before 7:00 went to meet Roberta at the West Door. I smiled as I saw her.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she said as I held the door open.

"Chickening out?" I rejoined. "We can just go straight to the Gryphon if you want. Hope you have your wallet handy."

"No, it's not the money. I just hate to have you win another bet. Especially after that last humiliation." she said haltingly.

"Then let's go inside," I said, sweeping her along.

We climbed the stairs to the third floor and went into the room we used for art class. I closed the door behind us. It was obvious we were the only people in the building; the rest of the place was dark and all the doors were closed and locked. We both diddled around for a few minutes getting our stuff ready, easels in place, sketch pads clipped in, that sort of thing. It was time.

I brought out a six-pack I'd smuggled in. She looked grateful.

"Fabulous idea. Why didn't I think of it?" she asked rhetorically.

"Cause I'm naturally smarter," I replied modestly. "I'm also naturally a better artist. And I'm also naturally..."

She interrupted with "a bigger asshole." We both laughed.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally I said, "OK, it's time. Strip down, recruits."

She turned away from me and began to unbutton her blouse. I saw her twist her head around to make sure I was getting undressed, too. It would have been just like me to stand there and wait for her to finish and then surprise her by not having undressed, but (at least this time) I wouldn't do something that sneaky. I heard a zipper unzip and I knew she was taking off her jeans. I was with her almost every step of the way.

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